Outside of Society
by Blood White Panther
Summary: John has always worried that his sons are being raised too far away from the bounds of society. What if his worries are not unfounded after all? This is a DeanSam fic. It contains themes of gay incest, slash, yaoi. Please read the warnings.
1. John Worries

John always worried a little about how he was raising the boys outside of society's rules

**Title: **Outside of Society

**Fandom:** Supernatural

**Author:** Blood White Panther (aka whitepanther16)

**Rating/Warnings:** This has an M (or R) rating for mature themes, future sexual content, denial, and underage incest and slash themes. As I stated in my profile, I believe that fictional gay incest is hot. If this concept offends you in any way or makes you uncomfortable, please do not read any further. This has not been beta-ed.

**Pairing(s):** DeanSam

**Notes:** This is a 'John finds out' fic.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that is recognizable from the Supernatural verse, and I'm not making any money off of this.

Chapter 1 – John Worries

xxxxx

John always worried a little about how he was raising the boys outside of society's rules. They never stayed more than a few months in any town, so his sons never had a chance to develop proper relationships with other children. He didn't like forcing Dean into a constant sitter role and he worried a little that Dean usually didn't mind. And then there was Sammy. Sam idolized his big brother to the point of hero worship. He almost seemed to consider Dean his property and attempted to be the centre of his every thought. They were eleven and seven and Dean still allowed Sam to cuddle with him for crying out loud. Dean indulged Sam's childlike behaviours to a point of ridiculousness and most often ended up avoiding kids his own age distrustfully even when he had an opportunity to interact with them. And so John worried a little about whether or not his boys were learning proper boundaries and appropriate behaviours. He worried about whether or not they were learning how to pick up on social norms and imperatives. Basically, he worried that he might not be raising Mary's babies properly. He never regretted the training he put them through or the hunting he himself was learning, but he did worry just a little about the lack of stability he was providing for his sons.

When Dean turned twelve, John moved Sam to his bed instead of Dean's and had a highly awkward talk with his eldest about puberty and the way a boy's body works. They both blushed tomato red and Dean muttered things like "I know that already" and "Oh God, please, please stop talking" but, overall, John felt it went as well as could be expected. Dean had started taking an interest in girls—chicks, as he somewhat disrespectfully referred to them—so John worried a little less about him. John watched with infinite relief as Dean hit puberty and spent more and more time brushing off Sam to sneak off and play tonsil hockey like any normal older brother should. He felt a little guilty for his relief when he overheard Sammy sniffling at night or caught him pouting after Dean had taken off somewhere with one of his girls. It was good, though, John told himself. Dean was spending time with kids his own age and it was consequently forcing Sam to grow up a little and seek out other companionship. For a few blessed years he only had the usual parental concerns to worry about: was Dean skipping school, was Sam happy hanging out with the nerdy crowd, and just how far was Dean taking things with all his girls.

When John began to catch Dean behind every convenience store or in the back of every diner wrapped around another waitress with his hand up her skirt or even, occasionally, with his hands down the very male gas attendant's pants he sighed and decided it was time for another talk about safe sex. He wasn't completely sure Dean had been around in any one school long enough to get the health class version of sex ed. That talk had been considerably worse than the first one and Dean had seemed incredibly horrified at how blind his father wasn't. Well, good. Maybe the stupid, sex-crazed teenager would learn a little self-control, or at least some discretion.

When Sam was nearly thirteen (Dean was about sixteen by then), John and the boys started drawing straws between the two beds and either a cot or the floor. He glossed over The Talk with Sam, deciding instead to give him a pilfered library book about the subject. He knew his little rebel bookworm of a son would pay very little attention to what he had to say, but would eat up every word in an actual book. Sam had always been somewhat reclusive, but now he holed up alone to read more than he talked to his fellow nerds or even Dean. He'd been hitting a fair few growth spurts lately and John thought with a smile that his youngest might just end up taller than either him or Dean. God knows the boy ate ravenously and his hands and feet were more than big enough: his son was like a large puppy in those respects, still growing into his paws. John had finally begun to relax, sure Dean was a little hormonal and Sam was a little withdrawn, but these were normal worries. He finally decided his boys were, despite all his blundering, going to turn out all right.

And then Sam's voice began to change.

Dean had already been rather resentful about the whole idea of Sam catching up to him in height, but this newest development seemed to be the last straw. John watched worriedly as his eldest began to withdraw into himself. He was angry all the time now, and though he still took John's orders, he didn't talk any more that he had to talk. It was all "yes, sir" and "no, sir" and the girls seemed to let up quite significantly. Even worse was how he was treating his Sammy. Gone were the days of indulging his kid brother. The atmosphere around them now was tense and competitive, almost as if Dean now viewed his brother as a threat. He was gruff and irritable with his baby brother and immediately shrugged off even the slightest physical contact. Even worse, John was pretty sure that Sammy the introvert was taking this idiotic display of testosterone to heart. When John tried to approach Dean about his need for an attitude adjustment, the boy was defensive and curt.

And then _it_ happened.

John and Dean were up researching a new case and fourteen-year-old Sammy was fast asleep in the bed across the room when his youngest got a little restless. John ignored the tossing around and the moaning as best he could, but Dean seemed a little spooked. While John was red and twitchy, Dean was white as a sheet. John tried a little to ease the tension in the air.

"Come on, son, we all have dreams like that. Just ignore him for now and you can rib him about it in the morning, alright?" Dean did his utmost to comply, throwing himself into a nearby tome on swamp monsters and John did likewise. After a few minutes Sam started mumbling. Dean seemed ready to bolt into the night and right into traffic and John swallowed and carried on a one-sided, overly loud conversation to block out the sounds. Maybe he should start getting them separate rooms? And then the worst happened. Sam was arching up and calling out a soft "Dean" before falling deeper into sleep. Dean's head whipped around so fast he almost fell over. He dropped the book in his hands. If possible, he was even whiter now and he seemed slightly nauseous. John could agree with him there, but he valiantly attempted to hold onto his reason.

"I'm sure it was nothing. People have strange dreams." Dean turned to stare at him rather desperately, like a skittish horse.

"You were there getting in the way of his dream girl. You guys are so competitive lately." John sounded firm and slightly chastising and confident in his belief and after a few minutes, he even believed it himself. Dean seemed to relax slightly as he latched onto this theory with all the desperation of a drowning man.

"Y-yeah. Stupid Sam's always been a little insecure. He thinks I'm his competition. You know, actually, I think there was a Deanna in Sam's class a few towns back." His voice was a little shaky, but John ignored it all in favour of diving back into his research. The next time Sammy had a dream, John went for a walk and Dean pretended to have fallen asleep. At this point John was concerned about the battles between his sons, but he was certain that's all it was. Just a rather extreme case of sibling rivalry. Or maybe a case of mistaken identity. After all, it _couldn't_ be anything else.

Sam was more distant than ever and John often heard him crying softly in the middle of the night. John's subconscious was developing a theory, but his conscious mind was actively repressing it. He managed to exist in denial for a couple of months, right up until he woke up one night and caught Dean masturbating and whimpering out the odd guilty sort of "Sammy" into the almost blackness. John was using the term "caught" rather loosely here. He heard it. He even saw it a little bit. Like the coward he'd never been before, he did absolutely nothing about it. Afterwards he watched secretly as Dean broke down into a stricken sort of sobbing. He kept mumbling things like "God, I'm sorry" and "Sick, so sick" into his pillow until John's heart was broken enough to pretend he was fast asleep.

John was more than slightly horrified, but he trusted Dean not to act on it. No, Dean was so guilty and quiet and sickly for the next few weeks that John was certain Dean would die before he touched his brother like that. John thought about confronting Dean, but as much as the desires of his eldest turned his stomach, he didn't want his son to go and kill himself or something. It was all John's fault somehow anyway. Something about keeping them on the road all the time, isolating them and telling them not to trust anyone but each other. Something about forcing them to live in the same bedroom through puberty. And something about encouraging Dean to look out for his baby brother to the point of making him his whole world.

So John was guilty and worried and quiet and cowardly. He watched Dean alternate between desperation, self loathing, anger, depression—and this was the kicker—shining, heartfelt adoration. He was blowing hot and cold like an active volcano in the Arctic Circle and John knew how confused and off-balance it was making Sam. John started watching Sam a Hell of a lot more closely to see if he was picking up on any of it. He wasn't. In fact, most of the time, he seemed to think Dean hated him. John listened at night as his sons took turns crying. Whenever one of them was asleep and John was presumed so as well, the other one was openly miserable (Yes, Dean was miserable even when he was getting himself off in the most twisted way. Maybe _especially_ when he broke down and did that.) and John felt helpless. His eldest was lusting after his youngest and hated himself for it. His youngest was confused between the periods of doting affection and cold disregard and thought his brother hated him or something. And all of it was likely John's own fault.

Sam was just sixteen and Dean was twenty when John had left them alone to go on just another overnight hunt—some kind of ghoul. This wasn't just any old hunt, though. As it turns out, it was the event that changed his world, turned it upside down again and forced him to face up to a few horribly uncomfortable secrets. It was late and John was tired. As he approached the motel room, he noticed the curtains were open and he'd just resolved to chastise Dean about the slip when he heard the shouting. John drew nearer, he couldn't make out the words so, like an intruder in his own room, he crouched and pressed his ear against the door. If he angled his head just so, he could even see inside the window while he listened.

Sam was furious. He was confronting Dean about his latest brush-off, it seemed. Dean looked so scared that John's heart clenched for him. Sam was loudly telling his older brother not to "pull this shit anymore" and to just "tell him what he was doing wrong". John watched as Dean swallowed and said it wasn't anything. His eldest was backing up until his back hit the wall, but Sam, in his tirade was following him. And then he did something unexpected. Little Sammy launched himself at Dean, and with the element of surprise and his new height advantage he pinned Dean between the wall and a nightstand. He was close—in Dean's breathing space—and he wasn't taking Dean's excuses. He forced Dean to look at him and then the sadness was almost overflowing from their eyes.

John blinked at the raw sort of emotion and waited for the shit to hit the fan. Sam clenched his fist and said, "I know, Dean, alright? I _know_." Dean was visibly trembling and John's stomach clenched as he waited for his family to break apart. Sam was going to slug Dean. "God, Dean, I—" he stuttered brokenly. His fist clenched.

And then he didn't.

John watched helplessly as Sam's fist moved to clench into fabric of Dean's shirt. Before either of the older Winchesters could react, Sam whimpered, leaned in and desperately kissed Dean.

With sudden clarity John remembered Sam's wet dream. No, Dean wasn't going to be the problem. _Sam_ had always been the one for confrontations. John's stomach clenched and turned and his head spun, but as he stood up to do something drastic, Dean shoved Sam halfway across the room. John watched speechless. Dean's eyes were red and he was still shaking.

"I can't, Sam. God, I— I just can't, alright?" Dean appeared sickened and guilty and afraid to John's eyes, but Sam only seemed confused. His eyes flashed.

"Dean, we—" And then Dean was springing into action, fists clenched and stepping to within a few feet of his Sammy.

"No, Sam! No, I can't, I won't. I can't take advantage of you like that, I just can't!"

"It wouldn't be—" John couldn't see Sam's face anymore, but he sounded both stubborn and about to cry. A brief flash of Sammy's puppy eyes drifted through his mind.

"Look, Sam, you're just a kid. You're confused, is all. It's my fault, I'm sick and I fucked you up somehow—"

"But—" Sam hiccupped.

Dean reached out and stroked Sam's cheek.

"Shh, look, it's my fault."

"Dean," Sam whispered, sounding completely lost. "Dean, I think I love you." Dean flinched and looked away. John's breath hitched. Things fell into place.

"I can't do it, Sam. I can't betray you like that. I can't betray Dad like that." He continued to stroke Sam's cheek. "I'm supposed to be the one to look out for you. My earliest memories, besides Mom, are about keeping you safe." Without warning, Dean wrapped Sam in a tight hug and just as quickly headed for the door. John watched dumbly as Dean gave up the one thing he wanted more than his own life. Sam, still facing away from the window, sank to his knees on the ground. John watched his sons breaking, his family falling apart. He stood at the window, numbly, and then Dean was coming through the door. He was crying, his eyes clenched shut as he forced his arm through the sleeve of his leather jacket. Blindly, he crashed into John's chest.

This was the true test. What was John willing to give up to keep his family together, to see his sons happy? Surprisingly, it wasn't really a decision. Dean gasped in shock and tried to back away, mumbling an apology, but John's arms were already wrapping around his first baby boy.

"Shh, Dean, it's me, it's alright." Dean started and began a panicked struggle when he realised who was standing in front of him, but John held him in a vice grip of a hug. After a moment, Dean slumped against his chest and cried his heart out in hot tears.

"Shh, shh, Deano, it's fine, it's okay. It's going to be alright."

"God, Dad, you have no idea, you, you d-don't understand, I—" John stroked Dean's back comfortingly. He hesitated, unsure how much to disclose, but Dean trembled like his world was ending and John steeled himself.

"You left the curtains open." Dean stiffened in horror. He wasn't even breathing. John kept rubbing his son's back and continued in a soothing voice. "I'm not oblivious, I'm a hunter, Dean. Figuring out people's dark secrets is what I do for a living." He paused and swallowed. "We heard that dream, remember. And you of all people should know I'm not always asleep when people think I am." Dean let out his breath in a big, hiccupping gasp and started shaking rather violently. John hugged him tighter.

"You love him, Dean." It wasn't really a question, but Dean was nodding morosely against John's chest.

"Y-yeah." John braced himself as courageously as possible. He knew Dean was doing the same thing, just waiting for John to disown him, beat him, throw him out of their lives. He set his jaw.

"It's not so bad as all that." and Dean was shaking and crying and laughing somewhat hysterically, burying his face into John's chest. 'It's not so bad as all that,' John told himself.

They were sitting on the sidewalk and John wasn't exactly sure when they'd sat down or how long they'd been out there. Overall, he felt lighter than he had in years. Their family wasn't going to fall apart. He was starting to get a little concerned about Sammy, though. He took a deep breath.

"Listen, Dean, I know you've never touched him. And just now, I saw what you were willing to give up to protect him. But you love each other. I've seen all the ways you look at him, the way he looks at you like you're his whole world. This isn't just going to go away…" Dean twisted around under father's arm to look at his face.

"I know that, Dad. What are you saying, exactly?" John sighed. He'd already made up his mind anyway. Now he just needed the balls to put it out there.

"I'm saying… Dean, I'm saying that you just broke both my sons' hearts in there," Dean hung his head, "and, and I want you to go and fix it, okay?" Dean's incredulous, hopeful eyes wandered up to meet John serious ones.

"Dad—" John hugged him one more time, pulled them both to their feet, and gave Dean a little push back towards the room. Through the window he noticed Sammy was still on his knees in the middle of the room, probably crying. He met Dean's questioning, disbelieving gaze and nodded decisively.

"I'm going for some coffee at the diner across the street." He paused and then nodded again. "I'll be gone for an hour." Dean swallowed nervously, still a little disbelievingly.

"Show him that you love him, o-okay?" John swallowed and quickly turned away before he could change his mind and tell them both they were supposed to be two and six forever. He started away, but after a second, he turned back. One more thing needed to be said.

"I want you to be happy, both of you, but so help me, Dean… If you hurt each other over this I'll kick both your asses." They met each other's gazes, measuring each other. Dean raised his chin and nodded.

"Yessir."


	2. Sam Breaks, Dean Fixes

Title: Outside of Society

**Title: **Outside of Society

**Fandom:** Supernatural

**Author:** Blood White Panther (aka whitepanther16)

**Rating/Warnings:** Rated M (R). Underage wincest (16 and 20 before anything happens), you know the drill. Again, not beta-ed.

**Pairing(s):** DeanSam

**Notes:** Sorry if there's an extra alert or two. I've been fixing silly grammar mistakes in the first chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that is recognizable from the Supernatural verse, and I'm not making any money off of this.

Chapter 2 – Sam Breaks, Dean Fixes

xxxxx

As the warmth of Dean's embrace left Sam's body he sank to his knees on the dirty, stained carpet. He heard Dean's breath puff out as he bent to retrieve his jacket. He heard the doorknob twist. When the old door clicked shut and the rush of cold air washed over him, Sam could have sworn he felt Dean's absence as something tangible in the air. He shuddered and spread his hands flat in front of him for balance on the grimy carpet. The tears should be coming. Sam's eyes burned and his throat clenched and itched, but he didn't make a sound. It was true, he thought numbly. He was in love with Dean. He'd loved him his whole life, of course, but this new feeling tingeing every touch, every word, every thought meant something more.

If Sam was truly honest with himself, this crush had probably been festering inside him since he was ten or eleven years old and Dean had started messing around a lot. Sam had felt the odd warmth towards a girl here or a boy there, but he was too young yet for that teenaged desperation which makes people stutter and float on air and seek out one another. He'd never kissed anyone, never really wanted to just yet. Dean was a different story.

At every opportunity, Dean was giving Sam the brush-off and sneaking off with some floozy. Sam hated it, of course. He felt lonely and rejected and jealous of the time Dean wasn't giving to his baby brother anymore. He'd tried to fill the space with other things, books and homework and even new friends, but it was never the same. Sam sighed. He remembered the burning anger in his belly whenever he saw Dean holding hands or even smiling at one of his "chicks". He used to trust only Dad and Sam. And he _never_ used to smile at strangers if it wasn't on the job.

All this until now was fairly normal. Expected, even. Younger siblings were supposed to resent the people who took their loved ones away from them. It was in all the books. Sam laughed mirthlessly. The seeds had been there all his life, but he hadn't truly understood what he was feeling until he'd hit puberty.

It had started with a few growth spurts at thirteen and a book from his Dad. There was, of course, a section on sexuality and for some reason unknown to Sam, he'd desperately wanted to ask Dean where he stood on that particular scale. He'd never worked up the courage for that conversation, but it turns out he hadn't actually needed to ask. Girls came and went like pigeons flocking around a breadcrumb in the park—there was never any question about Dean's thoughts on girls—but a few weeks after Sam had finished reading that book back to front, he'd started to notice the way his older brother looked at other guys. Not all guys, but definitely some of them. This rankled, itching under Sam's skin like ants until he was fairly concerned about becoming homophobic. Girls were bad enough, terrible even, but now his brother wanted to play the entire damn field from both teams?

At the time, Sam hadn't given a second thought to how closely he was watching his brother's interpersonal relations. No, it hadn't really sunk in for Sam until he'd started getting stiffys. Confused, he'd returned to that damned book and reread the chapter on erections. The first one had been early in the morning after a hazy dream about a hunt, about adrenaline and excitement and Dean somewhere at his shoulder.

The book had said that these dreams could be vague and confusing and mostly feelings. It even said he might dream about a pretty aunt or something equally creepy, but not to worry. It was only hormones mixing into his regular REM sleep. And it wasn't anything he could control. Sam had been vaguely disgusted with himself. He'd never like hunting and to think that he got off on the adrenaline rush was a little disappointing for him to realize. He hadn't even thought about Dean's presence in the dream—it was a hunt, after all, and Dean was always there when Sam was on a hunt. He remembered frowning in concentration and deciding it was probably just so-called 'morning wood'.

Sammy's second-ever erection was infinitely more confusing than the first one. It was on the tail end of a growth spurt and his Dad had left for a couple of hours on a hunt somewhere with instructions for them to spar, for Dean to help him learn how to use his newly lengthened limbs. Sam was fairly certain that you weren't supposed to spring an erection with your older brother's arms around your middle and his breath on the back of your neck. Fortunately, he'd cried uncle and run off to use the restroom before Dean had noticed. He'd sat there for half an hour just staring at the yellowing paint on the wall and trying to slow his heaving chest.

That night, Sam had lain awake for hours, his skin burning as he thought about Dean's muscular arms pinning his own arms to his chest. He could still feel the heat of Dean's breath on his skin, sinking into his blood and boiling it. Little did he know, things were going to worsen considerably.

Sam had grown taller yet, surpassing Dean by an inch or so, and he could tell instantly that Dean found it irritating. When his voice had finally cracked and begun to change, it had done something odd to their already unstable relationship. Dean's behaviour had become a little more erratic and he'd starting treating Sam like an opponent instead of an ally. Sam had been stricken. For awhile, he'd even suspected that Dean had somehow guessed his secret and was disgusted with him. Eventually, though, when no confrontation followed, Sam had decided that Dean just didn't like him very much.

It was bad enough for Sam to want something as twisted and impossible as he did. It was far worse to realize that Dean didn't even _like_ him anymore. Sam had spent his days isolating himself in books and his nights alternating between touching himself to Dean and bawling his eyes out under the cover of darkness and sleep.

Sam let out a sob under the weight of the remembered pain. Ah, yes, he noted disconnectedly, the tears were starting now. His fingers clenched in the mouldy shag carpet and he sank back into his memories. It had taken until last night until he'd finally figured out Dean. Three years of pining after his confusing, impossible older brother only to realize he'd been doing the same thing right back.

It had been nearing one o'clock. Sammy had been dosing in and out on the verge of sleep. His dad had left a few hours ago and wouldn't be back until tomorrow night—Monday. It was warm, so Dean must have set the thermostat a little too high again, and Sam was having trouble staying asleep. And then he'd heard it: rustling sheets and harsh breathing from the other bed. Sam's eyes had snapped open; he was quite suddenly wide awake. Even facing away from his brother he knew what he was hearing.

Dean had let out these gasping sorts of moans until Sam's mouth was bloody from biting it silent. He was determinedly not jerking off, not even touching himself. And then, when the sounds had been getting a shade closer to desperation, Dean had called out "Sammy". Sam had frozen so tensely still that he wasn't breathing. He'd been so sure Dean had caught him listening that it had taken a full minute for him to realize what this might mean. It wasn't really possible, was it?

He was debating rolling over to look at Dean when the litany had really started. It was all "S-sam…_Sammy_…God, Sam…_please_" mixed in with "sorry, I'm so sorry" and then Sam was hearing Dean groan out his orgasm. The sheets had rustled and the bed had creaked as he'd arched up into his fist.

Sam had stared at the wall, listening to Dean's slowing breath. He'd been so hard he'd thought he might die. And then the worst part had started. Dean had actually rolled over and started sobbing into his pillow like a child, whispering sorrys and self loathing and even prayers. Sam had stayed there, in shock, listening to Dean acting like his world was ending. He hadn't known what to do. He'd lain in shocked silence, not sleeping, but not rolling over to face his brother either. This wasn't supposed to be possible. Dean was never going to return his twisted feelings, so there's just _no way_ this way real.

The next morning, after his shower, Sam had met his brother's eyes with a worried "hey", but Dean had acted exactly like he had every other day for the past three years. And that's when it had really hit home. Sam had been angry, furious, that Dean was being all 'business as usual' and pretending like he wasn't killing himself with secret guilt. After the raw emotion Sam had heard from Dean not eight hours ago, it was astonishing to see this mask of normality. He'd fumed all morning, caught between sick hope, anger and disbelief.

Dean had continued to be completely normal all day, clearly indicating that last night was nothing new to him. This had left Sam nearly hysterical with bottled up emotion. It was some time after supper that he'd just finally snapped. He'd confronted Dean, confessed fucking everything, even kissed him.

And now he was alone. He laughed, then, still hysterical, and sobbed in the musty carpet smell. For a second—_for one single second_—he'd actually thought Dean might kiss back. And then he found himself halfway across the room. It was worse somehow that Dean wasn't even denying it. He'd shouted things about protecting Sam and not betraying Dad and he hadn't even reacted to Sam's desperately confessed "I think I love you." He'd mumbled some bullshit about it being "all his fault", hugged Sam, and then walked out on him.

How was Sam supposed to deal with that, huh? He scrubbed a grubby hand across his face and laughed again. Did Dean honestly think he _wasn't_ hurting Sam with this kind of reaction?

It felt like hours before Sam heard the deadbolt slide open, the door creak, and Dean's jacket hit a chair. He wanted to lock himself in the bathroom, but he just didn't have the energy anymore. How was he supposed to act around Dean now that it was all out in the open? Did Dean expect him to just pretend his heart _wasn't_ cracked and spider-webbing into fragments like a broken windshield?

"Sammy?" Dean called softly. "Oh, Sammy, I'm sorry." He heard Dean cross the room and sink to his knees behind him. Apparently they were going to talk about it. Dean reached out and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "It's going to be okay, I—"

Sam laughed—it was an ugly, jarring sound and he felt Dean's flinch.

"Go away, Dean."

"No." Dean paused and Sam almost turned around, but thought better of it. "Listen, I, I'm an idiot, Sam… I shouldn't have hurt you like that, okay? I was just feeling cornered, alright?" He waited a moment. "Say something, would you?" Sighing, Sam turned around. He directed his gaze somewhere over Dean's shoulder. When he finally spoke, his voice was dead.

"You can't fix this, Dean. It won't go away." It was Dean's turn to laugh.

"You're more like him than you realize, Sam." He snorted. "I wonder if that means I have Daddy issues?" Sam frowned and finally looked at his brother.

"What are you talking about?" Dean's hand migrated from his shoulder to stroking his cheek.

"Nothing. It doesn't matter right now. Come here." Sam allowed Dean to pull him closer and wrap his arms tight around him. He let his face fall to Dean's chest, curling a hand against the fabric of his shirt and sighing when Dean's hand slid up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"This is harder than I thought it'd be," Dean mumbled into the crown of Sam's warm, wavy hair. Sam closed his eyes against hot tears and he tried not to nuzzle into Dean's skin. Spreading out the palm of his hand over Dean's heart, he gradually and confusedly became aware of just how fast said heart was beating.

"Dean?" The strong arms wound tighter around him, like Dean was afraid to let go.

"I… Sam, I love you, too." Sam's breath hitched and he began to tremble. His pulse kicked up to something closer to his brother's current heart rate. He tried to move back far enough to see Dean's face, but his brother was gripping him too tightly for that. He was afraid to ask, but it was kind of crucial that he did.

"Why are you telling me now? I…" Sam swallowed down the lump in his throat, "I thought you said—" Dean was suddenly grasping his arms and moving him back just far enough so that Sam could see the heat in his eyes.

"Maybe I'm an idiot. Maybe, I want to change my mind." And that was all the warning Sam got before his older brother's lips were crashing down on his.

The kiss was violent in its intensity, and only Sam's second ever—the first to be returned—but he liked to think he was learning quickly enough. It was too much, almost, to have Dean's tongue in his mouth. His heart was still pounding. He wanted to laugh when he felt Dean's hands soothingly rubbing up and down his upper arms. That instinctively calming behaviour was so completely at odds with the brutal intent of Dean's mouth on his. After a moment he actually couldn't stand it and he separated their lips to chortle into Dean's neck. He felt light, elated, high on Dean.

"You're too much, you know that? I—ha ha—I really do love you Dean." His brother rocked back and away, frowning. His expression was somewhere between offended by the laughter, mollified by the tone, and confused by the words. Sam decided to save him the trouble.

"I'm just happy. It's been awhile since I've been this happy," he whispered, and then they were grinning at each other and he was leaning in and licking his way back into that hot mouth. Somehow he ended up on his back on that distasteful rug, with Dean's weight settled on top of him and his wet tongue sliding along his neck. He was hard and he could feel Dean's erection against his belly. The room was blisteringly warm, and after Sam had cranked the thermostat back down, it really shouldn't be. Dean's hands were still clasping his biceps, clenching spasmodically. His own hands were scraping up, under the back of Dean's shirt.

And then he remembered what day it was: Monday. Reluctantly, he withdrew his hands and pushed Dean back an inch or two. Dean grunted and frustratingly ground his pelvis closer. Sam clenched his teeth on a moan and tried to remember why they had to stop.

"Having second thoughts already, Sammy?" Dean enquired rather breathlessly.

"Of course not, it's just, it's Monday night. Dad could be back any minute, so…" Dean squinted down at his watch in the dark, twisting his wrist so the lamplight would glint on the metal hands.

"Nah, we've got another twenty minutes." He leaned in and nuzzled Sam's neck, but Sam shoved him back again, a little less gently this time.

"What do you mean, we've got twenty minutes?" He frowned warningly and suddenly Dean wasn't quite meeting his eyes.

"Uh…"

"Dean?"

"I, um, ran into Dad outside. He's having coffee at the diner across the street." Sam lurched back violently, shoving at Dean with all his considerable teenaged might.

"What!?" he shrieked. Dean held his ground against the onslaught while attempting to calm down his horrified younger brother.

"Hey! Hey! It's alright, he said he'd be an hour, so just calm down, okay?" Sam's eyes widened incredulously.

"You, you- Dad's right across the street, Dean! He could come back _now_." Dean swallowed nervously.

"There, there's something else I should probably tell you…" Dean seemed guilty, even flighty, and Sam's frown deepened. This couldn't be good. Dean sat back on his haunches and pulled Sam up into a sitting position in front of him. He fiddled with the sleeve of his shirt and Sam was suddenly more worried than annoyed. Dean's eyes flicked over to the window and landed on the gaping curtains.

"Shit, damn things are still open." Sam started and followed Dean's gaze. He blushed. He had, after all, been in a rather compromising position not two minutes earlier. He noticed that Dean was reddening a little as well. It was unusual to say the least. He was also still fidgeting with his shirtsleeve.

"Dean?" Sam felt a little like a broken record and he absently wondered just how many times he'd said that name in the last hour.

"Er, right, well…" Dean suddenly steeled himself and stared unflinchingly into Sam's eyes. "Earlier, when I left, I was pretty upset. I ran right into Dad on the other side of the door. And, and he knew." Sam had a very bad feeling about the direction this conversation was headed, but something wasn't quite adding up in his fearful calculations.

"He knew?" Dean sighed.

"He saw the whole thing through the window, Sam, but if it helps," he rushed on to say, "I think he's known for a couple of years now." Instantly, Sam was panicking like he'd never panicked before. Worse than that time in the woods with the werewolf.

"He saw?" he whispered frantically. Then, abruptly, he leapt to his feet. "A couple of years!?" he shrieked, his voice travelling to a considerably higher pitch than was normal. Dean winced.

"_If_, I said _if _it helps." He got to his feet and watched Sam's anxious pacing.

"Uh-huh, yeah, well it really doesn't! Oh, God, my life is flashing before my eyes! He's going to kill us! He's never going to speak to us again! He's- He's- Where _is_ he?" Sam's tirade fizzled out into a puzzled, but still panicked expression.

"I told you, having coffee—" Sam rolled his eyes so violently that Dean almost worried about the fate of his brother's optic nerves.

"I meant, why isn't he _here_? Why isn't he outside yelling at you or in here beating me up?" His eyes widened. "Oh, God, what if he's getting ammo?" Dean actually laughed.

"Ammo, Sammy?"

"Er, well, maybe not. But he's doing _something_. And why is he leaving us alone together?" And then, "Fuck! He saw me kiss you, Dean." Sam swallowed and promptly sank onto the nearest bed. "I feel sick." Dean wanted to laugh again, but he actually did feel a little sick when he stopped to think about it." He wrinkled his nose.

"I can't believe I left the curtains open." Sam blinked.

"If you hadn't, he might have walked in on it. You know, before you pushed me away and all." Dean paled considerably.

"Yeah, um, let's not go there. Ever." Sam shuddered and nodded.

"So what are we going to do now?" Dean sat down on the bed beside his younger brother, placing his left hand on Sam's thigh and grinning lecherously.

"Well, actually, we still have a few minutes if you want to…"

"Dean!"

"Okay, okay! It's just, I know he said he was okay with it and all, but I'm not totally sure he won't change his mind. We should probably make the most of…" Sam was staring at him, his expression one of pure shock. "What?"

"He's _okay_ with it?" He was incredulous, to say the least. Dean smiled a little and lifted the hand not on Sam's thigh to trail his knuckles along Sam's jaw.

"Well I imagine he's not exactly _okay_ with it, but he understands." Dean's eyes were softer, suddenly, and so full of love that Sam had to swallow around that stupid lump in this throat again. "He knows how much we love each other." He chuckled. "Said he'd kick our asses if we hurt each other, but he wants us to be happy. He's going to look the other way on this one." Sam had absolutely no idea what to say.

"Oh." It wasn't the most brilliant thought to express, but he blamed it on the shock and all. Hesitantly, he smiled back at Dean. The fingers on his right hand crept along his thigh, towards Dean's splayed left hand. "Oh." With a soft smile Dean laced their fingers together.

"Yeah."


	3. Laying Down the Law

**Title: **Outside of Society

**Fandom:** Supernatural

**Author:** Blood White Panther (aka whitepanther16)

**Rating/Warnings:** Rated M (R). Underage wincest (16 and 20 before anything happens), you know the drill. Again, not beta-ed.

**Pairing(s):** DeanSam

**Notes:** Don't forget to drop me a line… Reviews are like candy.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that is recognizable from the Supernatural verse, and I'm not making any money off of this.

Chapter 3 – Laying Down the Law

As the impala sped down the highway with John behind the wheel, Dean was staring out the window, firmly telling himself he _wasn't_ pouting. Nope, not at all. Last night, their father had barged in on him and Sam (he was right on time, but Dean still liked to think he was purposefully interrupting). It had been the worst possible timing on the face of the planet. That's right, Dad just _had_ to catch them holding hands and staring love-struck into each other's eyes like a couple of girls. Somehow, for Dean, it would have been a Hell of a lot less embarrassing if Dad had walked in on them making out or something. He was pretty sure he'd never hear the end of this once their father got over the awkwardness of the memory.

Sitting in the back seat next to Dean, Sam watched his brother watching the scenery with an angry pout on his lips. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to smack Dean or start laughing at him. He sighed, ruefully, and shifted his gaze to the back of their father's head. He knew Dean was embarrassed by their little chick flick moment. Not to mention they'd both been sexually frustrated for the past three years or so. The whole thing was awkward, yeah, but privately Sam thought that it had been far better for the long run. He was absolutely positive Dad would much rather have a chance to make fun of them than to be scarred for life. That, and the idea of Dad catching him messing around with _anybody_ made him nauseous. It would just be that much more mortifying if it was Dean. Sighing again, Sam switched back to watching his brother. Neither boy noticed their father's eyes glancing at them in the rear-view mirror.

As John guided the impala along an empty stretch of road, he snuck another look in the mirror at his sons. Twenty-year-old Dean was pouting, and the absurdity of that realization made it hard not to laugh. Sammy was pensively watching his brother. There was less of the uncomfortably angsty tension between his boys than there'd been in years, and that fact alone made it easier to swallow the decision he'd made. Unfortunately, in this unchartered territory, John had millions of new decisions left to make. There wasn't exactly a parental handbook for how to treat your sons when they become lovers. No, John had the distinct feeling that he'd be alone in this. Not even Pastor Jim could possibly understand.

Now that things were out in the open, John figured they'd have to set some boundaries… rules, of a sort. Though most of his mind would rather just deny the whole situation, just pretend he didn't see it, that would really only make things worse. John had to decide how to handle this, and he had to decide soon. Last night he'd forced the boys to take separate beds and he'd actually slept on the floor between them—not the most comfortable place to be. The first decision on his list was something along the lines of "To cock block or not to cock block?"

Was it better to give his boys plenty of space to get that kind of thing out of their systems where he didn't have to see it? As much as the idea of leaving them alone together disturbed him, if he specifically tried not to leave them alone, it was only prolonging the inevitable, wasn't it? Should he get them their own room? Was it safe to split up the family at night? They were still just kids, after all. Maybe it would be better if he could just take off for a few hours every now and then during the day? He wasn't sure he could stomach that either. Wouldn't he just tear himself up with nausea and worry like he had last night? The idea of not only condoning, but actually _facilitating_ a sexual relationship between his sons made him rather nauseous. Sighing heavily, he wondered if there was a 'right' way to go about this, and if he'd ever find it.

Eventually, the day disappeared with the sun, eaten up by road and silence. John pulled into a motel parking lot in the nearest town. A glance to the backseat revealed his baby boys fast asleep. Dean was drooling against the window and Sam's head was nestled on his thigh. John swallowed, overcome by nostalgia. His boys were growing up too fast anyway. Maybe, for his own sake, he could hold this off just a little longer? Making up his mind, John left the car to get a single hotel room with two beds and a cot.

As John half carried and half dragged his boys into the room, settling each of them in a separate bed, his mind drifted back to the most nerve-wracking, nauseating coffee he'd ever had. He'd spent about fifteen minutes actually crying in the goddamn men's room and thinking about what Mary would say. Eventually, though, he'd dragged himself to a corner booth and flopped down to angst about it. If he truly let himself think about it, he could have predicted this years ago. He still loved his sons, obviously, and he would stand beside his decision because it was the only way they could be happy and he could still keep their family together. The issue he'd pondered, over a bitter mug of black coffee and a greasy muffin sitting like lead in his stomach, had been more along the lines of 'What now? God, what do I do now?' Was he going to swallow his pride and a good amount of nausea so they could keep this relatively in the open? Or was he going to practice denial and tell his boys to just be brothers around him? He didn't want to see it; he didn't want to _know_ it. The whole thing was nearly more than he could stand. However, he also didn't want to wreck it. He'd wondered if secrecy would foster more guilt. If it could be dangerous, not knowing what they were up to.

When he'd returned to the motel room, he'd been a little worried about what he might find. The whole point of giving Dean a set time was to avoid that kind of thing, but his stomach kept roiling and turning just the same. As it turned out, he shouldn't have spent time worrying about that. The situation in which he found them had dictated his response. He'd chuckled at the identical goofy-gooey-giddy expressions on his sons' faces, ushered them into their separate beds, ignored their questions in favour of telling them to go to sleep, and determinedly overlooked the fact that the whole thing made him a little misty-eyed too (He hadn't seen either of his boys this happy in years).

Returning to the present at a knock on the door, John stood to receive the cot. After nodding grimly, setting up the cot between the two beds, thanking the woman, and locking the door behind her, he set to laying the salt lines. When his head finally hit the pillow and he drifted closer to oblivion, John allowed himself to smirk. Privately, he could admit that he was something of a sadist. There was just no way he could let this go without ragging on them a bit. They'd been holding hands for crying out loud! No, Dean would be hearing about this for years…

xxxxx

Yawning, Sam woke up to Dean leaning over him.

"What is it?" he mumbled, only to nearly jump out of his skin when his brother leaned in to kiss him on the mouth. "Are you insane?" he hissed, shooting a glance at their snoring father less than three feet away on the cot.

"Nope, just horny. Come with me to the shower, Sam," he murmured through a wide grin. Sam stared incredulously at the crazy man in front of him, but for some reason he allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Probably hormones.

Once Dean got the bathroom door closed behind them, he playfully shoved a stumbling Sam towards the sink.

"Brush your teeth, would ya? You've got rank morning breath, dude." Sam flushed red and glared at his brother.

"Shut up, jerk. You're the one who kissed me," he retorted. He did, however, sheepishly move to comply. There was no mirror above the dingy sink, but after a moment he could hear Dean's clothing hitting the floor. He nearly gulped down a mouthful of toothpaste. He drew out brushing his teeth until he heard the shower curtain close and the water start.

"You gonna be joining me anytime soon?" Dean teased from behind the foggy plastic curtain. Sam blushed again.

"Actually, er, I have to pee."

"Fine, but you'd better not flush the toilet while I'm in here." Nervous, Sam didn't budge.

"Er, do you think you could leave for a minute?" Dean barked out a laugh.

"Is little Sammy shy? Get over yourself, I'm not going to watch you take a piss." Sam glared mutinously at the curtain and moved to stand in front of the toilet. It took longer than it usually did, with Dean in the shower, but after a few minutes he was standing shirtless at the curtain, trying to work himself up to taking off his boxers.

"Look, if you've changed your mind, just say. I won't pressure you or anything…" Dean murmured softly, still closed-off from sight. Something about the sadness, the level of vulnerability in his brother's voice tugged on Sam's heartstrings and he drew back the curtain. Forgetting about his underwear, he climbed into the shower and wrapped his arms around his brother.

"I haven't changed my mind, Dean," he murmured into Dean's hair, nuzzling at the warm, wet skin behind his ear. "I told you I love you, remember?" Dean hummed contentedly, and Sam could feel him relaxing in his arms.

"I remember, Sammy," Dean mumbled as he brought their mouths together, licking wetly into Sam's mouth. It crossed his mind, briefly, that it was ridiculous for a twenty-year-old to have to lean _up_ to kiss a sixteen-year-old. Dean felt he should always be the taller one. It was his prerogative as the older brother. He took great pleasure in winding his hands into Sammy's long hair and yanking him back down to his level. At least the boy's still scrawny through the shoulders, long and lean like the teenager he is.

Sam groaned as Dean manhandled him down for another bruising kiss. He moaned when he realized he could feel his older brother's erection against his leg. Altogether, he was probably making far too much noise. Sliding his hands back down to Sam's waist, Dean frowned.

"Be quiet and take these off," he ordered, enjoying Sam's shiver as he helped his brother slide off the wet shorts. They both sucked in sharp breaths as Sam's cock rose up to slap against Dean's belly.

"I can't help it. Kiss me if you want me to shut up," Sam panted hotly against Dean's mouth as he reached for his brother's prick.

xxxxx

Outside the bathroom, John woke up to the disturbing sound of his son's making out in the shower. He gagged a little and yanked a pillow over his head. Great. Fucking _excellent_. What exactly had made him think he could keep a couple of horny boys from messing around? He wrinkled his nose and plugged his ears under the pillow. This had to be the worst possible thing to wake up to.

xxxxx

Dean moaned loudly into his little brother's mouth. He could _so_ get used to this. In fact, this had to be the best possible thing to wake up to in the morning.

"Dean! Sam! Could you fucking keep it down in there?" their father bellowed from the next room. Sam nearly shrieked and shoved frantically at Dean. They both ended up on flat on their asses on cold porcelain. Dean groaned. Gee, thanks, Dad. I'm _totally_ going to be able to come now. Angrily, he shut off the tap, grabbed a towel, and stormed into the main room. He didn't say a word, but his glare was enough to melt the flesh from the bones of anyone normal. Their Dad just scowled.

Okay, yeah… So maybe John wasn't exactly proud of what he'd just done, but how much can a father really be expected to endure? He sighed. By the looks of things, Dean was still highly frustrated. Maybe John was going to be paying for his actions in the form of a pissy, uncooperative son all morning, but he was secretly more than happy to have derailed his eldest son's rather disturbing plans. Sam, on the other hand, seemed like a creature crossbred from the incarnations of terror and humiliation. John figured he needed to speak to the boy in person and not just trust that the message had gotten through via Dean. He also needed to lay down some ground rules so that he _never_ had to overhear something like that again.

"Let's go to breakfast," he suggested carefully. Wide-eyed and blushing bright red, Sammy dressed quickly and hurried to wait in the back seat of the impala. Dean, however, took his not-the-least-bit-sweet time getting ready.

When John finally dragged Dean out to the car, the boy jerked away from his grip and nearly threw himself into the back seat. Glaring furiously at John, he threw an arm around Sam and dragged him far too close. Sammy squeaked, but stayed in his arms as his mutinous eyes dared him to pull away. John just sighed in exasperation and climbed into the front seat.

By the time they pulled into the parking lot of a tacky old restaurant across town, Dean was acting a little less irrationally. John even caught the occasional sheepish glance in his direction. They piled into the nearest empty booth, with John sitting across from his boys, levelling a stern, hard expression at them. He waited to speak until after they'd all ordered breakfast from a perky blonde waitress named Sally. Out of habit, Dean was making eyes at her, and John actually sniggered when Sammy smacked him upside the head.

"Cut it out! You're taken," he hissed, before slapping a hand over his mouth and shooting a fearful glance at John. Dean blushed, appearing fully chastened, and that's when John completely lost it. He was leaning his face into his arms, full-out guffawing into the vinyl table top. Looks like John would finally get some help controlling Dean's wandering eye…

Sam and Dean eyed their father in mild confusion. One minute, he'd been the strict drill sergeant about to lay down the law, and the next, he was laughing like a crazy person.

"Um, Dad?" Sam cautiously inquired. "Are you feeling alright?" Dean glared at his father, but his lip twitched. Something told him this was all at his expense, but it was nice to see their father laughing like this. After a few false stops, John eventually stopped up his laughter and assumed a more appropriately serious expression. Then the food arrived. He watched closely as Dean determinedly stared out the window, not even glancing in Sally's direction. Sam nodded approvingly and politely thanked the woman, while John forced down an unmanly giggle. He told himself it would be inappropriate to inform Dean that Sam already had him whipped. To stave off more laughter, he shoved a strip of bacon in his mouth. After a couple of minutes of quiet chewing, John swallowed and opened his mouth to speak.

"To answer the question you're afraid to ask, yes, Sam, I did tell Dean that you can, er, _date_ each other. I don't want you to be miserable… and I don't want to lose my family over this." Dean continued to wolf down his eggs and sausage, but his baby was giving him his full attention. "I think I need to set some ground rules, though, so listen up… That means _you_, Dean." Sam smirked and Dean reluctantly set down his fork.

"Yessir."

"Good… Look, I realize that men have needs, but I don't want to be around to hear that kind of thing." At these words, even Dean reddened—it was a throwback to the most horrifying conversation he'd ever had with Dad: the sex talk. Glancing sideways, he noticed that Sam was sinking low in his seat, splotched red and white with humiliation.

"Sorry about that… I wasn't thinking." John nodded.

"First rule, keep it PG-13 when I'm within range of seeing or hearing you."

"Yessir," Dean replied. Sam just nodded. His skin was fast approaching the shade of a plum.

"Second, like I already told Dean… I don't want this to cause more problems than it solves. I expect you two to treat each other with respect. Hurt each other too often or too severely and I'll be forced to separate you."

"You know I'd never hurt Sammy," Dean protested. John sighed.

"Last I checked, you beat each other up all the time. I do trust you not to take that too far, but I meant emotionally, too. You're going to have more power over Sam now that you're in a relationship, and let's face it: you can be an insensitive jerk sometimes." Sam let out a surprised laugh. Dean scowled in response, but nodded.

"Good," John replied, before glancing around, assuring himself that no one was within hearing distance for the next point on his list. He spoke quickly and quietly. "Thirdly, this has to stay between us. You can't tell anyone. Not even Caleb or Pastor Jim. Sam's underage, and at any age it will still be illegal. We don't need Child Services or some religious do-gooder finding out and pressing charges or taking him away." John was pleased with the level of serious, rapt attention his boys were now paying him.

"I understand that," Sam replied gravely. Dean nodded soberly.

"I know. I wouldn't say anything. I don't want to lose this family either." John sighed, relieved to have this conversation over with, to have discussed the most important issues.

"Good. I'm glad that's out of the way. That's all I have for now, but I imagine I'll think of more later. You can go back to your breakfasts now."

Halfway through the meal, Sam yelped and elbowed his brother in the stomach. John heard a hissed, "Don't pinch me!" before Dean leaned in to whisper something in Sam's ear. He watched as his youngest son turned tomato red again and shot him a panicked look. John sighed in exasperation. His boys were going to be the death of him.

"_Dean_. Stop harassing Sam."


End file.
